


Vikings Prompts

by livebynight



Series: Vikings Prompts [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Drunken Foolery, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-10 07:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10432989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livebynight/pseuds/livebynight
Summary: Created an additional series - Vikings Prompts - in particular, Ivar. No chronological order necessary, just fun works at the suggestion of my lovelies..





	1. Slap, Lick, Fondle

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: You’re passing a horn of mead around the fire when one of the shieldmaidens from another kingdom proposes a salacious game from her homeland. She sets before you Ubbe, Bjorn, and Ivar and tells them to close their eyes and not to move no matter what happens. She instructs you: “choose one of them to slap, one to lick, and one to fondle.”  
> Make your choices, and if you’re brave enough, describe what you do in more detail (Where? How hard? How do they react?)
> 
> Find me on tumblr - or feel free to send me a prompt - [here](http://captainpoopweinersoldier.tumblr.com/)

Minutes have gone by and still, you are laughing. Three of your friends have departed to whisk away the boys, leaving you with the rest of the pack – the group of you moving on to yet another round of mead. From the increasing rowdiness in the air, it was more than evident that the celebrations would go well into the night.

One by one, the Ragnarsson’s appear.

You can’t help but snort into your mug at Ivar’s expression; he looks less than enthused. Ubbe, on the contrary, looks as bright as a child the day of Yule. Bjorn is solemn as ever, body that of a rag doll as he allows your friend to drag him over by his wrist. You nearly pitied them all, but found yourself still laughing all the same.

“Oh, come on! We don’t have to do this – look how _sour_ they are!”

“I,” Ubbe interrupted, holding up a finger, “Have never been sour… a day in my life.” His words were slurred, obviously enjoying himself this evening.

“But it’s tradition!” Your friend insisted.

There were cheers from around the room as people began to look on.

“Fine, fine,” you conceded, a smirk growing on your face. “Boys… have a seat.”

The women around you all cheered, some leaning over to bang their flagon against yours. Ubbe was the only prominent male voice, practically bouncing as three chairs were brought to them. They were situated in a triangle, backs to be facing each other. Ivar scoffed and pulled himself into one, Ubbe and Bjorn sat down on the others.

You took down some more mead before rising and clapped your hands together. “I require blindfolds!”

The room hustled to get what you needed as your friend started explaining the rules. Obtaining some rags in your grasp, you set to blindfolding each Prince. Bjorn complied easily; Ubbe was less easy, getting frisky and smacking his lips at you till you had to give him a forceful shove to comply. Ivar looked a shade happier than before, but wasn’t willing to show it. You winked at him before covering his icy blue eyes with the blindfold.

“…hands behind your back, and no peeking!” Your friend finished.

The crowd was silent, anticipating what you would do first. You circled around the boys, only pausing to look at Bjorn. He had become such the grump over the years, and after knowing him since you were a child, it was disappointing to watch his smile disappear. To see him slumping in his chair even now, on such a festive occasion.

You decided then – he was getting the slap. But not just yet. You’d save the slap for last.

Circling around to Ivar, you grinned at his helplessness. You crouched over him, and he shifted, sensing someone near.

“Hey!” He snapped, once you grabbed his hair at the nape of his neck. You and your friends giggled, making his nostrils flare. You tugged on his hair, forcing his head back. There was an audible intake of breath from behind you as you lowered your face to the crook of his neck. Licking your lips, your tongue darted out, dragging a warm, wet path along the length of his neck. Ivar tensed. Exhaled deeply through his nostrils, and you could tell he was trying hard to keep his hands behind his back.

You moved to press your cheek on his, letting your eyes roam over the people’s reaction. A woman stared on, a hand held in front of her open mouth, and you chuckled, releasing your tongue once more to tickle Ivar’s earlobe. He shivered now, craning his neck to shy away from you, only to grunt once you nipped on his ear.

“What is happening?” Ubbe asked, head blindly turning from side to side. “What is she doing?”

“Hush!” Your friend snapped, and there was muffled laughter as you pulled away from Ivar. He relaxed upon you doing so.

You moved to Ubbe next, and it wasn’t till you fell to your knees in front of him that he sensed your presence. He sat up straighter, a grin instantly blooming on his face. You bit your lip, excited. You had always wanted to know what Ubbe felt like out of sheer curiosity. He pretended to be the ‘reasonable, kind and charming’ one, but most people knew deep down he was a force to be reckoned with. And there were tales of him in battle, bellowing songs from the depths of his chest as he paraded around a severed head. Besides, if you were to treat yourself, you would _treat_ yourself.

Feeling bolder now – mostly drunk – you spread his legs apart and sidled between them, and he let out a slow reverberated laugh.

“What is it?” Ivar demanded, looking over his shoulder. Laughter filled the room now and you nearly lost your resolve, but instead pulled his tunic out from his breaches. There was a chorus of cheers around you, some clapping even and even Bjorn started looking around aimlessly.

“What is happening?” He asked curiously. A series of ‘Shh!’ was his response.

Ubbe was quiet now, but his face said it all, his grin practically stretching from ear to ear. Your hand disappeared under his tunic, roamed all the way up his chest until you were able to get a feel of it. Your head tilted, trying to see with your hand. His chest was muscular, plump even against your palm, his hair bristled softly under your skin.  You dragged downward, making him giggle as your fingertips grazed his belly. The reaction made you snort, and you were joined by your friends in laughing. Embracing him with your other hand, you encircled his waist, gripping onto his hips before sliding toward his backside. You took a firm grasp just under his breeches.

Ubbe groaned, “Y/n, I had no idea you were this friendly. Perhaps I should have been the one to win you over.”

There was a collective gasp, but Ubbe eased the tension, chuckling after his comment. You followed suit, but retreated all the same, satisfied. Rubbed your hands at your skirt as you rose to your feet.

Everyone was silent now. The anticipation of the slap had the entire room’s attention; people were practically bent over, leaning in for a better look.

You stood in front of Bjorn and it was no surprise for him to feel the stares. “Is… Is it my turn now?”

No one responded. You signaled to your friend to hand you your drink, needing one last push to strike the Would-Be-King. He was starting to lose his composure though, shifting repeatedly in his seat until huffing, “Enough of this -”

He moved to remove the blindfold – there was a sharp intake of breath around you and it was as if in slow motion: Bjorn pulled the rag up, revealing one eye, then the other – just in time to see a rush of flesh as you swung at him, bringing your hand down with enough force that the slap across his face echoed throughout the quieted room.

Still silence held over the crowd. Bjorn’s head was turned to the side, a rosy blemish rising on his pale cheek. Slowly, he appraised you, and for a moment his stare was so cold, you worried you’d gone too far.

Bjorn rose from his seat. Standing to full height in front of you, you cowered, taking a step back. The other Ragnarsson’s had removed their blindfolds at this point, looking on.

But then Bjorn’s face broke into a grin, pointing his finger at you with a ‘ _got you_ ’ gesture. You nearly fainted at the relief and he threw his fists into the air, cheering. The crowd soon followed and there were chants of whoops, people rose from their seats, mead was sloshed all around, and songs began to be drunkenly sung.

You laughed as he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. “Get this woman another drink!” He yelled. He swung you around once more, and your laughter left you winded once he set you down. A flagon was shoved into both of your hands and Bjorn slammed his against yours before gulping it down.

Ubbe was next to rise. Gave a sloppy kiss to your cheek, twirled you around while the party resumed.

You were nearly dizzy by the time you were released, and almost immediately there was a hand pulling the back of your dress and you fell into Ivar’s lap. You sighed in relief, not having caught your breath from the laughter, the drink, and the brothers’ attention.

“I hope you have had your fun, Wife-to-Be,” Ivar murmured into your ear.

You pulled away to look at him, relieved to see he looked just as entertained as you did. You nuzzled your head against his, taking hold of his shoulder.

“There is more fun to be had, Future-Husband.”


	2. Shoulder Rub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Ivar asks you to rub his shoulders after a long day of training

It had been raining so hard that day, you almost didn’t hear him come through the door. Only turning when he swung it shut behind him. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him. He was absolutely _covered_ in mud, from head to toe, and his hair was a wild, sopping mess. Even his braids hadn’t been able to hold together.

“What in Gods has happened?” You questioned, trying to contain yourself.

Ivar began undressing himself, still catching his breath. His belt clunked to the floor, his sword and axe along with it.

“Training,” he replied happily. You beckoned him to your spot on the bed, wanting to assist in the mud pie that was now Ivar. He trudged over and pulled himself up to sit at the edge. The both of you worked at the laces of his shoulder pads; a gust of heat fanned at you after he pulled them off. You blinked heavy and cleared your throat.

“You _stink_ , Ivar.”

“You like it.”

A very, very small part of you _did_ like it, but you would not admit to that. Instead you chuckled and moved behind him to start working on his hair. Pulling each strand out was difficult with all the dirt; your fingers quickly became caked in it.

“Quite the contrary.”

Ivar twisted around so he could look at you, “Perhaps you can bathe me, then.”

You paused to glare over your arm at him. The corner of his mouth was pulled into a smirk and his teeth just barely grazed his bottom lip. It took much effort to ignore the allure of him, and the little shit knew it.

“Don’t push your luck.”

He rolled his jaw, turning away from you and you proceeded to fix his hair.

“A back rub?”

“Excuse me?”

“Shoulders?” He awaited a response, but you gave him none. “ _Come on_ ,” he whined. “I am sore – you must take care of me.”

Rolling your eyes, you rose to your knees to get the very top of his head. “I may decide to toss you out altogether…” you mused. Ivar scoffed so you gave his hair a tug. Once all the braiding was undone, you combed it out using your fingers. He had such thick hair that it would certainly need to be washed to get all the mud out. Gathering it all, you twirled it around your finger, wrapped it into a knot at the top and tucked it in on itself. The thickness and the grime should keep it in place.

But Ivar messed it up, pulling his shirt off as you sat back, and he knocked it askew. You smacked his arm and tied it up again, this time tighter.

You rose from the bed to hang up his belongings by the door. There was a lovely trail of brown leading from it and you chuckled to yourself, shaking your head. It was then, upon turning around, that you noticed the enormous purple bruise on his abdomen.

“Ivar!” You snapped, startling him. “What did you do?”

He followed your line of vision till eyeing the blemish. “It is nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” you insisted. You fell to your knees in front of him to inspect it closer. It must have been the size of a dinner plate; a stark contrast over his ribs compared to his normal skin tone. You wondered what could have possibly caused it, even an irrational anger came to mind at the thought of someone else having done this to him. “Is it painful?”

“I am always in pain,” Ivar said. You looked up to see him frowning. “I can take it.”

There was a moment of silence save for the rain as you stared at each other, and suddenly Ivar’s face broke into a grin.

“You know what would make me feel better?”

You shouted in frustration, making him giggle. But you rose all the same and assumed your position on the bed, perching on your knees behind him. Calm fell over you upon touching his skin; it was smooth and warm, and little droplets of dirty water fell from his hair. It dampened the nape of his neck, sent a trail down his spine. You couldn’t help but to press a kiss to his hairline.

“Did you just kiss me?”

“No, Ivar,” you lied. He tutted at you just as you began rolling your thumbs into his shoulders. He hadn’t been kidding, you could feel the very knots beneath his skin. You would have to use both hands on one shoulder. You pressed your thumbs into one large knot and twisted around, making Ivar hiss and arch his back.

“You are _very_ tight,” you commented.

“I told you! And yet you insist on tormenting me…”

“Relax, Ivar,” you scolded. The more he spoke, the more he moved around and you were trying to concentrate. You tugged his biceps, pressing him into you, “ _Relax_.”

As soon as he complied, his body turned to jelly in your hands. He slouched into you, heaving a sigh as you worked his shoulder. His complexion turned red under your ministrations, but it was necessary to get the kinks out.

There was one particularly sensitive spot below his shoulder blade. You left one hand on his neck, and with the other, spared no gentleness as you dug the knuckle of your index finger into his flesh.

“ _Aah_ …” Ivar groaned suddenly and latched his hand around one of your thighs, squeezing tight.

“Does that feel good?” You mused.

“Mm…” he nodded slowly. “Yes, y/n.”

You licked your lips, trying to ignore his sound effects and how they were starting to make you feel – made impossible when he pulled your hand from his neck to bring to his mouth. It wasn’t so much a kiss, his lips haphazard on your wrist. You had to tug to get him to release you, having to move on to the other shoulder.

Ivar had the same sensitive spot on the opposite side, you found. His shoulder was worked out smoothly, but the lower you went, the more unsettled he seemed to become. He whimpered as he felt you get closer and closer to it. The sound effects were entirely too distracting, but you wanted to hear him moan that way again. His hand was still wrapped around your knee, the strength not having wavered one bit.

Finally, you reached the weak spot, and slowly you melded the pads of your fingers into it, kneading in waves, steadily increasing pressure. Ivar keened as his head fell back. You swapped your fingers with your thumb and rolled, digging into the knot and he gasped. A sound somewhere between laughter and moaning tumbled out of him and you muffled your giggles, still rubbing until you could no longer feel the tension under your hand.

You gave his back a general rub down as he regained his composure. Once satisfied, you draped an arm around his neck, shifting to his side so you could look at him.

“Better?”

Ivar’s smile was sultry. He leaned in to press his face in the crook of your neck and nodded, a barely audible ‘yes’ was murmured into your skin. Then he pressed kisses there, moving his lips back and forth so he could cover more area.

You held him to you, cupping the back of his neck in your hand. He had to move his arm to caress your thigh, and that’s when you noticed the defined bulge, just barely contained in his breeches. The sight of it made your face light up.

“Can I help you with something else, Ivar?” You asked quietly. Before he could answer, you slid your hand under his arm and over his thigh, cupped the growing erection in your palm and gently squeezed.

His growl echoed lowly in your ear. He turned his head, his mouth instantly seeking yours, but you wanted to tease him. You allowed his lips to just barely graze against your own, right before pulling away from him. You bit your lip, smirking at his frustrated expression. Ivar tried once more, attempting more forcefully this time to kiss you and instead you evaded him, pressed your cheek against his to focus more on his crotch.

Ivar’s protest quickly died in his throat once you started to rub him through his pants. The harder he became, the more difficulty you were having maneuvering around them. You quickly undid the laces and pulled - Ivar practically swooned upon his release. His forehead pressed onto your shoulder as you took his cock in your hand. He was so thick and hard that it felt heavy in your grip.

You shifted as close as you could, your knees still being perched on either side of him. They had started to ache several minutes ago, but now, you wouldn’t let it deter you. You let go of him only to lick the palm of your hand, making it slick enough so you could slide over his length.

Taking hold again, you began to stroke him, slowly at first until developing a rhythm. Ivar was quiet now, his head still on your shoulder but you could feel his breath fanning at you, steadily increasing with fervor as you continued to jerk him. His grip around your thigh had returned, fingers applying pressure until it started to hurt.

In response, you released him, ignoring his whimpers to reach further down into his breeches to grasp at his balls. At once, his breath hitched in his throat, his hips twitched as you cupped them gently. You kneaded them as you did his shoulders, and suddenly Ivar was becoming vocal again. He sought to kiss you once more, trying to direct you with his forehead till your mouth hovered over his. This time you ceded, allowing one chaste kiss. Your mouths opened against one another’s, but you hesitated. You watched as Ivar’s eyes narrowed, could feel his tongue flick out and that – at least – you granted, sliding your own tongue out to meet the tip of his. Not entirely kissing, but tongues melded all the same as you looked into each other’s eyes.

You took hold of his shaft in the next moment, gripping tight, the surprise nearly making Ivar headbutt you. Instead, he cursed, groaning as you started stroking him again, faster than before. He was starting to seep at the tip; you ran your thumb through it, spreading over his head and ran circles around him with your thumb. His hips jerked again and he tossed his head back with a moan.

All his body weight was pressing into you, if he continued you were bound to tip backward.

“Do you wish me to stop, Ivar?” You whispered, still stroking him all the same.

In an instant, he was sitting up again, pressed his face back into your neck, “No, no, y/n,” he breathed, “ _Please_ don’t…”

As if to add emphasis, he wrapped his own hand around yours, tightening your grip even more, speeding up your pace. His moans were growing louder; he kissed into your neck, almost desperate to do something other than endure. His teeth gnawed into your skin, his tongue laved at you, he sucked and pulled until there was sure to be a bruise left behind.

It was all too distracting; it was enough to leave you wet for him, the way he writhed between your legs. His mouth was doing nothing to help.

You twisted your hand around him and he shuddered, finally ceased his assault. Twisting again, you slid up his girth only to run circles around his tip with your thumb. He was starting to shake at your ministrations; you knew he was nearly there.

Gripping around his shaft once more, you hastened, your own breath became labored as you anticipated his release.

“ _Aah, yes_ …” he moaned, “ _Gods_ , y/n…”

“Look at me,” you said, wanting to see his undoing.

It seemed a struggle, but he pulled his head back to look you in the eye. Your jaw fell slack – his pupils had completely dilated, his face now a rosy tint. His lips trembled as you continued your onslaught.

In the next motion, you grasped his tip, ran your thumb back and forth across its span in quick succession. You squeezed tight and continued to rub him and a guttural moan soared out of him, and he was coming… his white, hot seed spurting in streaks to spatter over his stomach. You tore your eyes away from him to look at it seep over his skin; traces of it lingered over your fist, still clenched around his cock.

You gently let him go, only to hear him whimper yet another time. You grant him a kiss on the corner of his mouth before collapsing back onto your hands, finally letting your legs out from under you.

Ivar’s shoulders rose and fell as he struggled to catch his breath. He was slouched over for a moment while you watched him… Eventually rising to sit up straight. He turned his head, just barely passing his shoulder to look at you through his peripheral.

“Go on and lay back,” he said. “It is my turn to have you.”


	3. Slap, Lick, Fondle part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Choose one to slap, one to lick, and one to fondle: Ragnar, Athelstan, Lagertha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the working title to Vikings instead of Ivar, due to this little work...

The children had long since been tucked into bed, leaving the gang of you sat around the fire pit, making an enormous dent in a cask of ale. The time was spent much like any other occasion - feeling weary from having been cooped up at sea, drunken adults crouched around a fire with nothing to worry you save how to divvy your coin the next day – playing an assortment of drinking games until you were too besotted to stand.

Athelstan was already three sheets to the wind, having lost the coin game you only just decided to retire due to Ragnar’s merciless victory. His pale face had turned to a flattering shade of pink.

Lagertha was explaining the rules for the next game. Ragnar was delighted at the prospect. He rubbed his hands together mischievously before eagerly topping off everyone’s drink.

“Can I be the one to do it?” He asked.

“Let y/n do it,” Lagertha protested with a smirk, “She proved herself quite the Shieldmaiden in battle; she deserves the prize.”

You beamed at the compliment, tried to cover the blush on your cheeks by taking a plentiful gulp of ale.

“But I won the last game!” Ragnar protested.

“ _Husband_ ,” Lagertha scolded.  Her tone was light enough, but he sat back down with a pout.

“If I may be so bold,” you interjected, a slur already clouding your words, “I’m not sure I could choose between the three of you. I… You are all so…” You trailed, trying to avoid embarrassment, blushing all the further. Up until late, you hadn’t spent so much alone time in their company… They were all so alluring you would have gladly had them all.

“We can each have a turn,” Athelstan piped in, much to Ragnar’s surprise and your relief. “That way it won’t feel too decisive.”

“I agree with Athelstan.” Ragnar conceded.

“As do I.” Lagertha concurred. They looked at you expectantly and you nodded. “But you still go first.”

At that point, you were thankful for the drink as it left a calming warmth over your mind. You chugged down the rest of the mead and rose from your chair, wandering around the fire pit to make your first move. Ragnar leaned forward with such anxious anticipation, you couldn’t help but to laugh at him. The fire lit up his blue eyes and they pierced into you, it was unnerving, chilling you to your core.

You slapped him then, much to his surprise. Athelstan snorted, nearly spitting out his drink and Lagertha perched her mug between her knees so she could applaud.

“That is how it is?” He asked, though a smirk tugged at his lips.

“That is how it is,” you nodded. Plus, how many opportunities would you have to slap an Earl?

You sidled to Lagertha next; her beauty was unfailing and she appraised you with confident eyes. It was enough to make your knees go weak. It remained a mystery how one could blend the glamour of a Goddess and a blood-soaked warrior into one… yet here she was.

You let your fingers slide over her cheek and tangle into her hair, the rivulets of her braids were exceptionally soft and you trailed your fingers through them. You crouched over, almost reluctant to go further but Lagertha encouraged you, ran her hand down your waist. Sucking in your bottom lip, you caressed her shoulder, roamed over her breast to give a gentle squeeze. Her lips parted and she tugged you close to her, forcing your hand to mold over her leather bodice.

“Ah, ah, _ah_ …” Ragnar interrupted. You nearly jumped from her, your reverie broken. He wagged a finger at you, “I must ask - what is the punishment if one of us breaks the rules?”

“I should have saved the slap for that,” you joked, filling what had been a silent room with laughter. You moved to Athelstan then, you had always been fond of the Priest and he had done harm to no one. It was more than entertaining to see him in this drunken state. You giggled as you hovered over him and he gave you a shy smile, knowing his fate.

Ever so slowly you reached for his chin to tilt his face up toward yours. You leaned in, flicking your tongue at his chin. He twitched and Ragnar giggled like a boy half his age. You continued to drag your tongue down his jawline, pressed a wet kiss to the pulse in his throat before pulling away.

“Athelstan is next,” you decided.

He heaved a sigh but rose from his chair all the same. You were in the middle of refilling your mug when he stood in front of you. You cocked a brow at him, curious as to what he might do, but his selection was innocent enough.

Athelstan ran his fingers through your hair, much as you did to Lagertha, until his hand clasped around your neck. He massaged his thumb into your throat and you were surprised by the boldness of his gesture, his grip tighter than you might’ve imagined. You gulped beneath his hand and his eyes bore into yours with a weight that gave you chills.

As quick as he began, he was already removing his hand from you. Again, you found Ragnar breaking your concentration.

“Ever the Priest,” he mentioned amusedly. His laughter was cut short, however, when Athelstan turned and slapped him across the cheek. You and Lagertha fell into a fit of hysterics, doubled over at the look on Ragnar’s face. Even Athelstan couldn’t help but to laugh, his attempt at hiding his smile behind his arm failing miserably.

“Am I to be tormented all night?” Ragnar scoffed, “I am next – that is decided.”

Athelstan shifted toward Lagertha who raised her arms in greeting, a smile on her face. His face turned even redder than it already was and he took one of her hands, turned it over and ran his tongue up the length of her palm. Lagertha’s giggling was contagious and you were all laughing again as he reclaimed his chair. He had been sat for no more than a second when Ragnar took hold of a leg, dragged Athelstan across the floor till he was situated next to him. Athelstan tried to shy away but Ragnar had him in his arms, nuzzled into his shoulder and ran his tongue up his neck and over the side of his face.

“Ragnar!” You and Lagertha both shouted, but you were too taken over by a fit of giggles. You reached out for one another and gripped onto each other’s hands, shaking with laughter like a bunch of little girls.

Ragnar was just as quick moving to his next victim. He stood so suddenly, you and Lagertha were silenced, and he scooped her up in his arms, tossed her over his shoulder and spanked her thrice. She squealed and even Athelstan burst out laughing, you reached over to bang your mug against his.

No sooner had Ragnar set her back down when he practically tackled you to the floor; your chair knocked over, mug flung from your grasp spilling ale across Athelstan’s lap. You were like a doll, unable to defend against his force. All you could do was smile in its wake.

He had you pinned to the ground, wrapped your legs around his waist and his strong hands were on your breasts in a matter of seconds. It was nearly ticklish in the way he assaulted you – you threw your head back and screeched, overcome with laughter when he stuck his tongue out at you.

“And what was that about rules, Earl Ragnar?” Lagertha called. She was clapping her hands, tilted back in her chair far enough that it was bound to tip backward.

“I am only playing,” he whined, turning to pout at her.

“Save it,” she reprimanded, though there was nothing she could do to hide her smile. “It is my turn!”

“As you wish,” Ragnar panted. He lifted you from the ground and sat you back in your chair. You had to shake yourself; Lagertha was tempting enough, her husband’s body atop of you only exacerbated the swell between your legs that you’d been attempting to ignore for several minutes now.

As he sat back down, Lagertha crossed to Athelstan between you. She perched on his lap and prodded her fingers through his beard, tangled her fingers in his hair before pressing his face into her bosom. It was your turn to spit out your drink now, you looked over to Ragnar whose face was lit up, eyes wide in approval.

Lagertha moved to you next, climbed onto your lap as well. Any noise you’d been making was quickly sobered as she tilted your head back, tickled you with the tip of her nose. She inhaled deeply, making your mouth go dry just as her tongue flickered out to crawl over your neck.

Grasping your face in both hands, her lips danced over your cheek, finally coming to graze over your own. You had half a mind to kiss her; the men at least, were finally silent. But just as you leaned in, she slipped her tongue beneath your upper lip, slid it between the flesh and your teeth. You gasped at the feel of it, unconsciously you gripped onto her hips. She teased your bottom lip the same way, tilting your head to tease the crease of your mouth with her tongue.

“Who is the winner of this game?” Ragnar asked. His voice barely registered in your mind, even as Lagertha pulled away. “In this moment, I am feeling like the winner.”

Lagertha wheeled around on your lap to glare at her husband. The separation left you breathless once she rose, but you were quick to recover when she moved to Ragnar and slapped him across the face. It was with enough strength that between the momentum and her drunkenness, she tumbled across his lap.

Ragnar chuckled, scooping her into his arms. “Now I _know_ I am the winner.”

You looked to Athelstan who seemed content either way – he had been slouching further and further into his seat. You reached over and snatched his mug of ale, tipped the contents in your mouth to cool down.

“I think it is time for bed,” Ragnar continued, looking at his wife.

“You are right,” you agreed. Unable to contain the burp that escaped, you wiped your mouth and stood, stretching toward the ceiling. “I have yet to make it back to my farm.”

“You are not going back to your farm.” Ragnar said. Lagertha still in his arms, he stood and carried her to their bedroom. She beckoned at you from over his shoulder, pressing her lips against his cheek. “Come join us.”

Your mouth bobbed open and closed like a fish. Looking at Athelstan, he raised his hands in defeat, waving you in the direction of the Earl’s bedroom. A rush of thrill coursed through your stomach, but you would waste no more time. You nearly tripped on your chair as you rushed to follow them.


	4. How Many This Time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Create a modern AU using Alex Hogh Andersen's new photoshoot as inspiration.
> 
> Link: http://www.boysbygirls.co.uk/index.php/news/bbg-presents-alex-hogh

The shouting match came to an abrupt halt once you entered the kitchen. Perhaps it hadn’t been a great idea to let yourself in the house, with the intention of sneaking through. Now Ragnar and Aslaug looked at you from their spots on either side of the island counter, both had their fists planted into the granite.

Your mouth was halfway through forming an apology when Ragnar sighed, waved a dismissive hand, and gestured down the hall. You barely made it half way down when the yelling picked back up again.

Opening the bedroom door, you winced at the sight of him. You threw your stuff on the floor and walked back out, went to the bathroom to wash your hands and get some supplies. A wet washcloth and a cup of water, gauze, medical tape, rubbing alcohol, and butterfly stitches. It was a good thing they kept the first-aid stocked in the house, what with the boys always getting into some sort of trouble. Ivar most of all.

He hadn’t moved from his spot since you left him. The bed was pushed into the corner by the window, currently the only source of light in the room. He was sat on the mattress, his back flush against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, gazing idly outside. As you approached the bed, he finally turned to look at you.

“How many this time?”

The little shit had the gall to smirk and you shook your head, mostly in disapproval.

“Four.”

You set the cup of water on the floor and dumped the rest of the supplies on the bed, then climbed on and perched on your knees next to him. “You trying to set a record, babe?”

Ivar snorted as you clasped onto his chin, turning his head back and forth so you could appraise his face. You chewed your lip with worry. The both of you jumped when there was a slam that echoed down the hall. You cursed and got up to quickly close the door, hurrying back to resume your position.

The worst damage was above his eye. It looked like someone used a blunt object on him, and it left behind an ugly, deep gash through his eyebrow. The swelling of it pressed into his right eye, forcing him to squint. This one would probably leave a scar.

“How mad are they?” Ivar asked tentatively as you inspected him.

“Reasonably so, from the state of you.” You tutted at him, bringing the washcloth to dab around the gash and wipe away the blood that had seeped down his face. This wasn’t the first time you cared for him after a fight, not even close. But this time was particularly gnarly and you feared the day he’d get seriously hurt. “Fuck, Ivar, you know I love you but this mug is a deal-breaker. You can’t keep fucking it up or I’m out.”

Ivar’s chest rumbled as he chuckled, winced when you touched a particularly sensitive spot. You moved to clean the blood from his lip and chin, comforted that the split on it wasn’t too bad. There was a purple bruise on his cheekbone but luckily no more blood. He’d have to put an ice pack on that later.

“Tell me they look worse,” you pleaded, glaring into his eyes.

Ivar raised four fingers, ticking them off as he went along. “One of them didn’t seem to realize a crutch can be a weapon until I smashed his windpipe with it.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his wolfish grin, even as his blood seeped into the untainted water when you rinsed the washcloth. “Two are in the hospital _and_ _one_ … is probably going to have some trouble the next time he tries to use his cock.”

“My little brawler.” You mused, and paused your ministrations to give him a kiss. Ivar’s arms were quick to encircle you, pulling you hard enough into his chest that he winced from the contact. His lips became aggressive attackers on your mouth, incessantly seeking for deeper admittance until you had to shove yourself away. “I have to finish.”

Ivar pouted and released you with a pitiful whimper. On a normal day, you’d let him do as he pleased, but you were more concerned with the gash on his face, already bleeding again in the short time since you’d rinsed it.  You smoothed his hair back from his face and tutted at him yet again. Keeping your eye on the wound, you dumped out some butterfly stitches, then wet the washcloth with some rubbing alcohol.

“Sorry in advance,” you whispered, then dabbed the cloth over the gash.

Ivar bared his teeth as he let out a growl and winced from the sting of it. His back tensed, arching from the wall and his hands sought for you, clenched into fists around your skirt until you finished. You were quick to reach for the stitches and shuffled closer to him to properly line up the edges of his wound. Five stitches in total were used for the expanse of it. And for extra protection, you taped down a layer of gauze over them.

“Better?” Ivar nodded, so you moved to his hands. Each one of his knuckles was scraped up, bruised and bleeding. Swelling worse on some than others. You set to work, gnawing on your lip in concentration, cleaning them thoroughly after rinsing the wash cloth once more.

“I like when you take care of me.” Ivar said.

“Not why you get into fights, I hope.”

“I didn’t start this one,” he insisted. You raised a brow at him. “I swear! …One of them tried to trip me.”

You froze immediately, dragging your eyes up to meet his. Ivar had said that so quickly, like playing it off as an afterthought, but as he looked away from you, you could tell it still hurt his feelings. The sadness, though he always persistently tried to hide it, was evident in his eyes. You released his hands to cross your arms over your chest.

“Which guys were these?”

The sadness was gone as quickly as it appeared, and Ivar laughed. It only made you angrier. “I took care of them,” he rolled his jaw and winked at you, though it looked strained now with the swelling. “I’m a big boy.”

You huffed and he rubbed your arm, trying to soothe you. The thought of someone trying to take advantage of Ivar like that… it was a good thing they were already in the hospital.

“ _C’mon_ ,” Ivar groaned. “Finish taking care of me. _I’m_ supposed to be the angry one, remember?”

“I swear to Gods, Ivar -”

He shushed you, pulled your arms apart and placed his hands back in yours. Ivar’s entire being was your weak spot and he knew it; the look he gave you made you melt and give in to him. With minimal reluctance, you resumed cleaning his knuckles, one by one till they were totally void of blood and grime. Upon finishing, you brought his hands to your lips, placed a kiss on each knuckle. You turned them over, palms up, and kissed him there as well.

Ivar watched curiously; you pulled at his sleeves and kissed his wrists, dragged your lips over both his forearms until he became impatient and pulled you to him, smothering your mouth with his. This time, he was granted the access he so eagerly wanted before and moaned as his tongue collided with yours. He even tasted of blood and you swooned… pulled away to tug at your sweater.

There was a clatter as you shoved the supplies off the bed, the cup of bloody water spilled on the floor, but you payed it no mind as you lay down, beckoning Ivar.

“Take off your clothes.”


End file.
